


Dream a little dream of me

by ThatOneGirlBehindYou



Series: Two Sugars-verse [10]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Cancer, Developing Relationship, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Mentions of Cancer, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28779486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneGirlBehindYou/pseuds/ThatOneGirlBehindYou
Summary: "And who might you be?""I'm- uh- I-" surely it can't be that hard to remember her own name, right? "I- Agnes Montague, I'm- with the paper?" She offers meekly, holding up the borrowed camera like a shield. "Are you in charge?""Hm? Oh, not really. But I'm loud, and they have better things to do. They tell me who to move, and I do it." She offers a hand to shake, firm and warm where she grips Agnes'. "Gertrude Robinson."
Relationships: Adelard Dekker & Agnes Montague, Adelard Dekker & Gertrude Robinson, Agnes Montague/Gertrude Robinson, Emma Harvey & Gertrude Robinson
Series: Two Sugars-verse [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755319
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Dream a little dream of me

**Author's Note:**

> I am once more returning to this universe in the middle of a writer's block.
> 
> Also, are the marigolds symbolic? I'm mexican, of course they are. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy some GertrudeAgnes, mind the tags!

It's still early when Agnes climbs up the steps of the Charing Cross station and out into the street. Overkill perhaps, but she wanted to get a head start and catch it from the beginning.

The strike is not the sort of thing The Flame usually covers, but Arthur has been trying to taket them into a more 'respectable' direction, and this seemed like a good place to start.

And really, it's- she knows Diego only gave her the assignment because he's got a soft spot for her, and everyone else is busy covering more important things, but it's still a real assignment, and she's going to cover it  _ right _ .

She gets to Trafalgar Square at around noon, in her sensible heels and her brand new pencil skirt and tweed blazer, her hair done up in a tight bun to try and make her look a bit older, because Jack always says her long red braids give off a Pipa Longstockings image.

Now she just needs to find a good angle to take pictures from, and a couple people to interview-

"-up! Dear lord, do they pay you to be a wanker? I said  _ go stand in the back _ !" Someone snaps. "No? Are you a woman sewing machinist? Then you can support them  _ from the back _ !"

Agnes turns around to find the owner of the voice, angry outspoken people are always good for sales and-

The girl seems to be about her age, clad in a green corduroy skirt with suspenders that cross over the back of her bright red jumper. She turns around, and where Agnes expects her to scream at someone else, she instead nods curtly to a group of women that begin taking their places with their signs. 

She turns towards Agnes, a few strands of her messy brown hair escaping her loose bun and a wary look in her dark eyes serious and grim behind the lenses of a pair of heavy framed glasses. "And who might you be?"

"I'm- uh- I-" surely it  _ can't _ be that hard to remember her own name, right? "I- Agnes Montague, I'm- with the paper?" She offers meekly, holding up the borrowed camera like a shield. "Are you in charge?"

"Hm? Oh, not really. But I'm loud, and they have better things to do. They tell me who to move, and I do it." She offers a hand to shake, firm and warm where she grips Agnes'. "Gertrude Robinson."

* * *

"Huh," Jack mutters later that day as they're revealing Agnes' photographs. 

"Huh?" Agnes asks. The smells of the revealing room always make her dizzy, but it beats sitting at her 'office' writing horoscopes again. 

"This girl was everywhere, wasn't she? You got a lot of pictures of her." He asks, and Agnes doesn't even have to look to know who Jack is talking about. 

She looks anyways.

"I- uh. She was helping with the organization, actually. One of her aunts is a sewing machinist, and she was helping them get the people in order."

"She looks like a handful, I like her." Jack chuckles a little, eyeing a photo of Gertrude staring down some police officer that had been trying to scare a pair of younger workers to leave the square. "So how was the protest?"

And here's the thing. 

Agnes knows the protest was important. She took good notes, recorded great interviews with some interesting people Gertrude introduced her to, she was practically reporting from the front lines!

She still doesn't remember a single thing. What a journalist. 

Much to his credit, Jack merely chuckles at her nervous babbling, and hands her a copy of one of the pictures.

* * *

It almost feels like things just.... Fell into place.

Gertrude's personality is so big it has its own gravitational pull, and Agnes finds herself inescapably, irrevocably trapped in her orbit. 

They meet at Battersea Park, just a bit away from Gertrude's job at the Institute, and they walk and talk and talk until the streetlights come on and Agnes sees herself reflected in Gertrude's cat-eye glasses. 

"What do you do there anyways? Is it some sort of... Library?" Agnes asks, sipping on her milkshake as they sit by the river. 

"Not really." Gertrude takes a bite of her ice cream sandwich -praline and cream- with a shrug. "Or rather, not in the traditional sense. We investigate folklore? And we investigate how the stories change as time goes on. Anyone can come and give us their story though, which makes for a bunch of nutters wanting attention and maybe two real stories a month, if we're lucky."

Agnes snorts. "And you listen to all of them?"

"I have to, as head archivist," Gertrude says with an exhausted sigh, like she's sixty-two rather than eighteen, which makes Agnes chuckle harder. Gertrude gives her an offended stare for all of two minutes, before smacking Agnes' thigh with the back of her hand. "Stop that. Have they sent you to other good assignments at the newspaper? I haven't seen your name on it lately."

Agnes chokes a little on her shake. "I- you read The Flame?"

"Sometimes," Gertrude mutters, her gaze fixed on something across the river. "It's... an interesting publication."

"Bunch of nutters wanting attention? Agnes smiles, and chuckles a little more at the lovely blush that spreads over Gertrude's cheeks. 

"You said it, not me. Anyways, haven't heard much of a particular nutter."

"Ah... not really, no. My unc- my boss is a bit... overprotective? He doesn't like sending me out on the field. I mostly work at the office." Agnes shrugs, a tad embarrassed. Gertrude is two years younger than her and already the head of her department, while Agnes is still doing beginner's work at Diego's behalf.

"Hm. Bit of a shame, isn't it?" Gertrude arches an eyebrow. "You're quite a good journalist. It's hardly your fault you look like a doll," she adds with a straight face, and it's all Agnes can do to burst out laughing as her face heats up. 

"I'll make sure to pass on your recommendations," Agnes says once she's gotten it under control. Gertrude's thin lips are curved in a satisfied smile that she can't help but return. "...So what's your sign?"

* * *

_ Virgo: Your dedication is inspiring! Keep doing a good job, and you're sure to prosper _

* * *

It's alright. It will be fine! 

She's just meeting Gertrude's friends, she's  _ probably _ not going to die. They- they might even like her, right? Even if Agnes has little to no experience socializing with people outside her job. Gertrude seems to like her just fine, so- so it must mean Agnes isn't completely messing up. 

And- and she should probably go into the pub at some point, unless she wants them to hate her for being late instead of just for being weir-

"You must be the  _ famous _ Agnes." Someone asks at her back, making her jump and spin around to face the speaker. The woman must be around her age, but she somehow manages to make Agnes feel like she's eleven years old again and finding out everyone at secondary school knows each other already.

She's dressed in a fancy tweed suit with sharp shoulder pads and shiny pointed heels, her pitch-black hair tied in a tight bun at the back of her head, and looking at Agnes like a fox would a hen. 

"I- uhm- do I-"

"My, you  _ are _ lovely. What are you doing out here all alone? I'm sure the others are inside already, Jurg's a sucker for punctuality." The woman talks over her, and Agnes hunches over a bit more. "I would've been here a while ago but you see, I can't be letting them get used to me being on time, don't you agree? It's- oh, you're looking a bit pale there, are you alrigh-"

"Emma, you're smothering her," says yet another voice, and Agnes turns to find a young man approaching them, still holding a cigarette pack on a hand and a lighter on the other. He's wearing a smart black turtleneck, and the light of the pub gleams off of a small golden crucifix hanging from a thin chain around his neck. "Agnes, right? I'm Adelard, one of Gertrude's friends. Do you feel well?" He asks, leaning in to smile gently at her. 

"I'm- I feel a bit dizzy," Agnes confesses. The man -Adelard, she reminds herself- chuckles. 

"That's a common side effect of talking to Emma," he says over Emma's offended scoff. "I needed a bit of quiet, mind keeping me company? We can go back in together once we both feel better."

Agnes takes a deep breath, and Adelard's gentle dark eyes are soothing enough that she finds herself nodding. 

"Sounds like a plan, then," Emma says in the background. "I'll go in and tell them you're taking a smoke break."

And then she's gone, and the two of them are left alone, the only sound between them the muffled music coming from inside the building. 

Adelard offers her the cigarette pack, and Agnes shakes her head after a moment. She has never done it, and she doesn't want to embarrass herself by having a coughing attack. 

"It's a nice night," Adelard says after lighting up his own cigarette and letting out the first cloud of smoke.

"Mhm." Agnes nods, still feeling like the weird sheltered kid that has no idea how to socialize. Gertrude really is too patient with her for some reason, but she can't expect a trio of absolute strangers to grant her the same commodity, and they're probably going to hate her, or worse, pity her. 

"You know?" Adelard speaks again, and Agnes turns to find him giving her a sideways look with an amused little smile on his face. "Gertie's pretty nervous too."

* * *

_ Virgo: Stay positive, and keep an open mind. Good things are coming! _

* * *

"Make yourself at home, I'll go make us some tea," Agnes says as she gestures to the living room sofa before scurrying away to the kitchen. It's not the first time she has Gertrude visit at her apartment, but she can't help but feel a little like an overexcited puppy every single time.

On the bright side, she channeled the anxiety into cooking earlier, so now she has some nice mince pies and pastries she adds to the service.

"Agnes?" Gertrude's careful voice drifts in from the living room.

"Yes?" Agnes asks as she comes back into the room with her now loaded tray.

"...Why- are your plants alright?" 

Agnes can't hold back on her sheepish chuckle, sitting down on the sofa next to her friend, and feeling her face redden under her sharp, watchful stare. 

"They don't look so good, do they? I'm doing everything they say in the magazines, but I'm starting to think plants just don't like me." She smiles at Gertrude, who averts her gaze in favor of Agnes' discoloured geraniums. 

"Well, I think you're getting better," Gertrude says finally, and it sounds resolute, almost determined. "Your marigolds died in less than a week, didn't they? You'll get the hang of it."

* * *

_ Virgo: You're incredibly important for someone, and your presence brings peace. Your lucky color is red. _

* * *

"I can't believe you made this, dear!" Emma says, popping a meringue-covered finger between her carefully painted lips. Agnes has learned she's not quite as scary as she first thought. Or maybe it's because Emma seems to have taken her under her wing, just like the others. "It's better than the one they sell at restaurants!"

"It's just pie," Agnes smiles, embarrassment and delight battling it out in her chest at the praise. "I'm glad you like it, I thought maybe the curd was too liquid."

"Nonsense!" Adelard exclaims, finishing his third serving of the pie. "Just perfect, don't you think, Gertie?"

"I've told you to not call me that." Gertrude rolls her eyes. There's a smudge of meringue on the corner of her lips, Agnes notices. "Now stop pigging out on that pie, you've nearly polished off the whole thing."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do?"

"For now, help with the table," Gertrude huffs, swiping the empty plate away from him. "I'll be doing the dishes, for my part."

"You don't have to," Agnes stands immediately, and goes to grab the plates on her hands. "I'll do-"

"You'll do nothing," Gertrude says firmly, keeping the plates away from her. "You cooked for us, least we can do is not leave your flat a mess."

They stand there for a couple seconds in a silent standoff, before Agnes deflates with a smile. And then, because it's very distracting, and she looks quite silly like that, Agnes reaches up to wipe the meringue away from her lips.

"Have it your way then. You know where the gloves are."

"Of course I do." Gertrude huffs again.

"Of course you do," Jurgen snorts as Gertrude marches into the kitchen with all the air of an offended cat. 

* * *

_ Virgo: You're very stubborn, but it's part of the charm. Your loved ones support you unconditionally. _

* * *

"Hey, Agnes?"

"Hm?" Agnes looks up from her typewriter to find that Jack is sitting by her desk, reading one of her finished pages. 

"Isn't your story done already?"

"Oh, it is." Agnes shrugs. "These are the horoscopes."

Jack tilts his head to the side. "Why are you still doing those? You could leave them for some of the new girls, couldn't you?"

"I... guess I could?" Agnes blinks, a bit caught off-guard. "I guess I just like doing them. It's relaxing, now that it's not the only thing I'm allowed to do."

"I'm glad Diego finally came to his senses. You're really good."

Agnes smiles. She's maybe started to believe it herself. 

"Thanks, Jack."

* * *

_ Virgo: You push others to achieve their fullest potential. Don't forget your own! _

* * *

Agnes keeps her gaze fixed on the ceiling. Gertrude's lap is soft and her fingers in Agnes' hair are soothing, but she still feels... anxious. Uncomfortable.

"You're quiet today," Gertrude looks away from her book, after a couple minutes. "Did something happen at work?"

"I- no. Or... maybe?" Agnes stops her babbling short, sighing. "Jack invited me to go on a date."

And just like that, the mood in the living room seems to weigh down.

Gertrude's sharp brown eyes are fixed on Agnes', though she can't for the life of her figure out what's going on behind them. Even Gertrude's fingers have stilled, and Agnes starts to wonder that maybe she said the wrong-

"That's nice." Gertrude says, turning back to her book. Agnes feels her stomach contracting. "He has good taste."

It's said as Gertrude's compliments always are, blunt and with almost dry sincerity. 

Why then, does Agnes feel so bad about it?

* * *

_ Virgo: You will do well at work, but remember to make time for friends! _

* * *

"Amazing, as always." Adelard pats his belly with a contented sigh. "You're an amazing cook, dear, let no one tell you otherwise."

"I think I believe you." Agnes chuckles, eyeing the scarcely-there leftover lasagna. "Do you want to take the rest home with you? I already saved some for myself."

"You're an angel, Agnes. Saving stupid young men from starving to death. I'd ask you to marry me if I thought I had a chance," he says with a voice so heartfelt it makes Agnes break down laughing even more. 

"Isn't that against your vows?"

"God would want what's best for me." He nods solemnly. Agnes rolls her eyes smiling, and then climbs to her feet to get some tupperware to put the lasagna in. 

"So... how's Gertrude?" She asks, making sure to keep her voice casual as she transfers the food. 

"What do you mean?"

"Yes, I- have you seen her lately?"

"...You haven't?" There's something off in Adelard's voice, and Agnes feels something in her stomach clench in response, her chest starting to grow heavy with anxiety. 

"No, it's- she's been... busy, at work. I- we haven't met in a few weeks." When she turns to him after a prolonged silence, Agnes finds the man pinching the bridge of his nose. "Adelard?"

"Nothing, dear, nothing. Emma will have a cow, but don't you worry about it. Now, let me do the dishes for you, alright? It's the least I can do."

* * *

_ Virgo: Remember to keep in touch with your loved ones. You are invaluable in people's lives. _

* * *

Gertrude does not come to see her, and whenever Agnes comes by the Institute she's told that the head archivist is terribly busy, but that they will pass her the message. 

Agnes feels- it's not great. Like walking down a staircase and not realizing one of the steps is a lot lower than you initially thought. 

She feels disoriented, and a bit lonely despite having the others around. 

Her dahlias wither no matter how much care and attention she pours into them, and Agnes is inclined to agree.

* * *

_ Virgo: Happiness comes in many forms. Keep fighting for yours. _

* * *

"-es. Agnes?" Jack's voice reaches her as though through a wall, and it takes Agnes a moment to understand that not only is she being spoken to, it must not be the first time Jack calls her name, and she's been staring at the stuck key in her typewriter for who knows how long. "Ag- are you alright?"

"Oh. Yes, I'm quite good. Do you need anything?" She asks. 

"Not really. I was just telling you I ran into your girl friend. The one from the protest?"

Now  _ that _ has Agnes snapping to attention.

"You saw Gertrude? How is she?"

Jack arches an eyebrow. "She seems fine? She asked about you."

Oh.

"I- she did? What did you tell her?" She asks, her heart hammering almost painfully in her chest. 

"I actually wanted to ask  _ her _ about you." Jack runs a hand over the back of his neck, and gives her the charming, boyish smile that Agnes knows has many a girl swooning over him. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you've been a tad distracted at work? Anyways, I thought she'd know."

"No, I- we haven't seen each other in a bit." Two and a half weeks, but who's counting? Not her, definitely. "Did- what did she say?"

"Aren't you her boyfriend, you idiot?" Jack snaps in a decent enough impression of Gertrude that Agnes snorts a little. "I figured I shouldn't be offended, but I thought it was a bit mean that you didn't tell me we were an item."

"Stop." Agnes chuckles and smacks his shoulder. She feels far too light all of a sudden, like something is inflating in her chest and it'll fly her away if she's not careful. "Did you tell her?"

"Tell her what? About our one and only date where you talked about the Marvelous Gertrude Robinson for two hours?"

"Oh, hush."

* * *

She's so full of nervous energy for the rest of the day, that she very nearly walks away after pushing the doorbell to the unfamiliar flat.

When she opens the door, Gertrude looks lovely as always, with strands of hazelnut hair escaped from her bun spread around her head like a halo, the sun gleaming off of her glasses, and her front teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

"I thought-" Agnes tries, then clears her throat. "I was worried for a moment there that you'd forgotten where my flat is. Figured I'd check on you, if you were losing your memory so badly."

Gertrude's cheeks redden, and her brow furrows. "I- did Emma give you my address?"

"Addie." Agnes shrugs. "Is this okay?"

"...You can come in." And she steps back.

Agnes steps in after her, taking a look around. The flat is a bit smaller than her own, a pile of books resting on every surface, as well as a frankly worrying amount of fish and chips containers. There's a curious purr by her feet, and Agnes looks down to find the biggest cat she's seen in her life, and to be quite honest, the ugliest. It's got an arched back and a perpetual frown, with hairless patches here and there and clouded eyes that glare accusingly up at her.

"Nice to finally meet you, Madame Calamity." Agnes smiles, offering her hand for a sniff. Gertrude's old cat considers it for a second, before apparently deeming her acceptable and butting her fingers with her head. "She's really cute."

"She's a monster is what she is," Gertrude mutters. She's staring at Agnes, when she straightens up from petting Calamity. "I'm sorry I was being... you know."

"I'm afraid I  _ don't _ know." Agnes smiles, and Gertrude rolls her eyes.

"Aren't you cute?"

"I don't know that either." Agnes shrugs, and moves to sit on the arm of Gertrude's couch. "What do you think?"

They stay in silence for what feels like an eternity, until Gertrude takes a step forward, and then another and another, until she's standing a step away from Agnes.

"I'm sorry I acted like an arse," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "I- it was- I forgot we aren't- ah. I'm making a mess of this."

Agnes swallows heavily, and with her heart hammering so heavily in her chest, she no longer feels like joking. Instead, she reaches over to tangle her fingers in Gertrude's. "We could be," she breathes out, every word catching in her throat. This is Gertrude, and with her Agnes doesn't have to worry about looking dumb or ridiculous, and- and she's the piece that has been so sorely missing in her life these past few weeks. "Gertrude."

Gertrude looks up at her, and she's not saying anything, but Agnes gives her fingers a slight tug, and she takes a slow, deep breath.

"Oh, to hell with it." And she surges forward to press a kiss to Agnes' lips.

Agnes for her part, is very busy wrapping her arms around Gertrude's back to keep her right where she is, thank you very much.

* * *

_ Virgo: You're easy to love. Someone thinks of you always. Consider trying new things, like a cooking class. _

* * *

Life is good, after that.

Not easy, of course, but always good.

Diego and Arthur aren't Getrude's biggest fans, but they seem to begrudgingly accept she makes Agnes happy. When they move in together to the little house that the church left for Agnes, they barely even raise a fuss. Just in case though, Emma makes sure the property papers are in order, something about 'cultish vibes', she says, but everything turns out alright in the end.

Getrude is hopeless in the kitchen, but she does the dishes and cleans after Agnes cooks, and she never makes fun of Agnes' ill attempts at gardening, so Agnes doesn't ever mention that the pancakes are a bit salty and burnt whenever Gertrude surprises her with breakfast in bed.

Their friends come over for dinner every week or so, and Agnes is pleasantly surprised when Jack accepts immediately the first time she invites him. It's a bit odd still, to realize she has her own friends. Her own life, despite starting it so late.

They bury Calamity a few years later at the edge of the backyard, and Agnes sits by the little grave and kisses Gertrude's hair as she crumbles in her arms.

There's a few fights, of course. Gertrude works too much, and Agnes isn't too ambitious, and they want different things in life, but the one thing they're sure they agree on is that they want each other by their side, and slowly but surely, they make it work.

* * *

_ Virgo: It is the sum of imperfections that makes something unique. You brighten people's lives, and give them strength. You're not supposed to wash whites and colors together. _

* * *

All in all they're together for a little less than nine years.

Agnes finds it  _ incredibly _ unfair, but she's so exhausted after fighting her own body for months, that she can hardly muster any more rage to throw at the universe. By the time they figure out what's wrong with her, the cancer has spread far too much for them to be able to control, and it's all they can do to give her the sedatives she needs to keep her content and at peace while her body dies.

"How are you feeling?" Gertrude asks. They had tried to tell her only family was allowed in here, but in all their years together, Agnes has never met someone that can tell her wife what to do. Now she sits by her bed, holding Agnes' bony, trembling hand in hers.

"Tired. It doesn't hurt, just very tired." Agnes adds, because she knows she'll worry. Then, after a beat in which the only sound in the room is the muffled steps of the nurses outside, "I'm going to miss you."

Gertrude's hand tightens around hers. Her front teeth are worrying at her bottom lip, and Agnes sort of wants to kiss her, but she can't really sit up, and she's always worried the medicines give her bad breath.

"I- me too. I'm- Agnes, I'm sorry." She says at last, her beautiful brown eyes fixed on their joined hands.

Agnes blinks.

"Whatever are you sorry for?" she asks. "Gertr-" but she's interrupted by a coughing fit, and Gertrude lets go of her hand to help her sit upright and hold a glass of water up to her lips, once she's stopped.

"I know there's... things. Things that you wanted, and we never did. I- maybe if I had been someone else, you'd have done-"

"You're being ridiculous," Agnes interrupts, frowning. "There is no one else I'd want to be here with me, Gertrude. Now come here with me, I'm cold."

"You're never cold." Gertrude arches an eyebrow.

Agnes sniffs. "Well, I'm cold  _ now _ . Probably wouldn't be, if I had a good wife that came into bed to hug me."

Gertrude lets out a small bark of laughter. It sounds a little wet, but Agnes doesn't comment on it. "Wherever will we find you a good wife, Miss Montague?" she asks, but she helps Agnes scoot over, and kicks her shoes off before climbing onto the bed with her. She plasters herself to Agnes' back, close enough that Agnes can feel her heart beating against her shoulder blades, and her hand comes up over her waist to tangle with Agnes' own again. Their rings gleam under the harsh white light of the hospital, and they might not be "real", but the weight of them is the same, Agnes thinks as she watches them. "Agnes... what's going to happen to me now?"

Agnes gives her hand a squeeze, before bringing it up to her face to kiss her knuckles. She feels Gertrude flinch and hears her gasp, so she figures even her lips must be freezing.

"Let's see, for Virgo... finding happiness again, I think. As many times as it takes. Being strong. Loving. And then, meeting with a loved one again." She recites, giving her voice an airy, mystical tone.

Gertrude chuckles again, even weaker than before. "My lucky color?"

"Red, of course." Agnes nods firmly. Then, a bit more quiet. "You'll be-" she doesn't say 'fine'. She's not about to disrespect Getrude's grief like that; Agnes has made peace with her own death, but for the ones staying, the journey will be long, and hard. "The- the house is for you. Emma helped me with the will. You can stay there forever, or sell it and go somewhere else, or- whatever you want. And you won't be alone. Don't shut them out, they want to help."

"...I love you." Gertrude whispers against the back of her neck, so low Agnes feels it rather than hears it.

And then, just for a moment, Agnes is afraid. Not for herself, but for the bright, brave woman she's leaving behind. Is it selfish to worry that her absence will break Gertrude more than she can fix herself?

She shuts her eyes tight, to try and fight the burning off. 

"I love you too."

* * *

Gertrude wakes up in the middle of the night. 

Two-thirty in the morning, according to the clock on the wall illuminated only by a ray of moonlight coming in through the window.

Agnes is still warm in her arms, but Getrude  _ knows _ what happened just as sure as one knows up from down.

She tightens her arms around Agnes' limp body, and she cries for a while, until her sobs exhaust her enough to sleep again.

* * *

Gertrude wakes up late.

Ten-thirty, according to the clock on the wall that gives off an awful gleam against the morning sun.

The first thing to catch her attention is Ester's voice coming in from the backyard, curling around the notes of that sweet little song she likes to hum when she tends to her garden.

The second is the acrid, familiar scent of smoke.

"Why's the house burning?" Jon asks from the living room after the front door opens.

"How dare you. Nana? Wherever you are, I think your cooking smells lovely!" Gerry calls out, and Gertrude hears the door close, and Ester's singing stops.

"Could you stop that? Jon, open the windows. I'll go turn the stove off." And there's Martin, thank god. At least now the house won't actually burn down.

Gertrude climbs off the bed slowly, and dresses quickly in something simple and comfortable. Truth to be told, she'd forgotten the boys would be coming for brunch today, but it's always good to have them over. She looks in the mirror to do her hair, but gives up after pulling most of it into a bun; her hair's been a mess for the best part of fifty years, it's not likely to start behaving now.

"-making?" Gerry asks. He's smiling down at Ester, who's busying herself by the mantelpiece.

"I was  _ trying _ to make porridge, dear. Figured even I couldn't mess that one up," Ester chuckles, and when she turns and lets herself be enveloped in Gerry's arms for a hug, Gertrude sees a bundle of fresh marigolds resting before Agnes' picture, and a matching one at Eric's.

"-ould order bagels? There's a place nearby," Martin is saying in the kitchen, and Gertrude purses her lips in distaste.

"Gran's not too fond of those. Why not poached eggs?" Jon suggests, bless him. "If you start with those, I can drive down to the bakery and pick up something for dessert."

"Gran?" Gerry asks, and it's only then that Gertrude notices they're staring at her, as she tears her gaze off of the two pictures on the mantelpiece. "Are you okay?"

"Are you feeling alright, dear?" Ester adds, her sharp dark eyes searching Gertrude's face for any worrying sign. 

Behind her, Agnes' picture seems to be laughing at her, Gertrude notices.

"... Yes, I think I am." She resolves after a moment. "Jonathan? I'll ride to the bakery with you. Emma told me they've got a lemon meringue pie she thinks I'll like."

It won't be the same of course, but maybe, Gertrude decides, it will be just as good.


End file.
